Monsters
by Underwater Owl
Summary: What do you do when two characters from different worlds are perfect for eachother? Write a fanfic! This is an AlienRiddick cross over. Set right afte pitch black, and right after ressurection. Rated because Riddick swears a whole tonne (blame him, I


I often think about what it's like to be a robot.

I friend of mine once told me that I was 'too humane to be human.' I know that usually, I'm indistinguishable. I've got eyes, nose, bending knee caps, growing hair, (except on my legs, that I've disabled, it's too much of a pain to shave) and am the identical of any girl out there.

Only the freckle on my arm pulls out, and turns into a link to computers.

And I won't die. I've been shot, stabbed, poisoned and had acid splash me, and I'm still breathing.

Well, my chest rises and falls automatically in a simulation of life.

My name is Ebony Call. Call is short for K-L, for my serial number, KL143.

No one calls me Ebony.

I step off the transport and push my short bobbed black hair out of my eyes. A human gesture I picked up a couple of months ago from a friend of mine.

I constantly change my hair length, and I will forever be glad that I don't have finger prints. I walk into a small fast food restaurant, even though I don't strictly speaking need to eat, but because every one else on the transport is hungry.

And I like chicken, so sue me.

I bat my eye lashes at the young cashier, who winks and adds a few more chicken balls into my cardboard cup. I pay, and walk out, my bag slung over my shoulder, sipping a coke.

I walk straight past a photograph of my own face, blinking on a wanted add, right beneath some other lucky bastard.

But then because someone notices me, I have to stop, and put on the act.

I turn around quickly and read the paper.

The man who saw me looks me up and down and I turn to him eyes wide.

"Oh gosh, Mister, she looks like me, doesn't she? Doesn't she?"

My eyes well with artificial tears, and he pats me awkwardly on my shoulder. He's a religious person, I can tell. He's wearing long robes, and I wonder why he was reading the ads: Time to turn it up a notch.

"You don't think I'll be arrested, do you? Oh gosh... what if they think I'm her and they lock me up without a trial because they're so sure?"

"There, there, child. I'm sure no one will arrest you. You don't look a thing like this convict. It's all right."

"Well yes, you think so, but what about other people? The ones who read these things like you do?"

"No, look at you. Look at them. There's a clear difference."

I follow his orders, sniffling to myself. I do look different. There are only three photos up here, mine, of me with short cropped hair, the same as I had while on board the Betty. Another man with a scar running across his face and an evil leer, and a bald man with silvery blue eyes stare down at me. The man with the scar looks the part, and I laugh. I'd know that face anywhere. Another crew member of the Betty, one of three of us who survived hell, not counting her, of course... The bald man I recognize from other pictures. Richard B. Riddick has decorated booths like this for eternity.

"I guess you're right. I'm so sorry for falling to pieces on you, I guess I just needed a shoulder to cry on, and I knew I could trust you."

He smiles, and makes the sign of his faith, and I cross myself.

"I hope to see you again, little child. Good luck"

With that he walks off.

I grin. That was even easier than I expected.

I get to the hotel I'm planning to stay at, and rent a room for the night. The next hour I spend shopping.

I lose the innocent schoolgirl idea. It's too dangerous on a dingy world like this one. I change instead into olive green pants, a black tank top, black hiking boots and a leather jacket which hangs down, trench coat style, to my knees.

There's something exhilarating about dressing like this, I think as I reapply black eyeliner. It gives you a feeling that you can take on anything and anyone.

Truthfully, I've had that feeling since I made it off that science vessel.

I put down the eyeliner, and pick up my bottle of nail polish. 'Raven Red' it's labeled, and it looks like a ruby.

I sit down on the couch and begin painting my fingers and toes.

The science vessel. An experiment with the most volatile and dangerous of species ever.

You see, once, long ago, there was a woman, and she had an alien in her.

They cloned her, and took out the alien, but the alien got loose and killed everyone.

Everyone except three scavengers from a mercenary ship, who were unlucky enough to get caught in the cross fire.

The reason they survived? The woman, the alien's mother, helped them.

Ebony Call had been friends with Lieutenant Helen Ripley. They had parted ways a few months after crashing onto earth. A few months after the government had denied ever cloning Ripley. A few months after KL143 had been rated dangerous, and she and her crew mate had been charged with the destruction of Company Property, and a lesser charge; the murder of all those men on board.

Now, because I know the truth, they're after me.

Ripley is safe. No one really believes she survived. She's living somewhere; we agreed not to tell eachother. She could have been tortured and I could have had my memory invaded and scanned.

I blow on the nail polish, letting the last coat dry, and wiggle my fingers experimentally. The polish glistens.

I'm ready for anything, I think as I slip my shiv into my hiking boot, and slide another knife into my waist band.

No one can touch me now.

I open the door to my hotel room and step into the hall. I little girl stops in front of me, surprised.

"Hi, do you by any chance know the way to the nearest restaurant? I'm starving."

The kid shakes her head, no. I smile. She's smart. Don't ever talk to strangers who are bigger than you. I look her up and down.

She's wearing loose black pants and a white tee, much like my own. Her hair is shaved short, and I can see a series of half healed cuts. She looks like she's been dragged through hell and back. I know that feeling.

"Thanks anyways, I guess I'll just follow my feet."

A voice rings out from the door next to mine.

"Jack, is that you? Hurry up, kid!"

She smiles at the voice, a quick flash, and looks quickly at me.

I grin.

"Your father's waiting."

Jack laughs again and calls "Coming dad"

I begin to walk down the hall, and I hear her enter the room. A human wouldn't be able to hear, but I focus in on the sound.

"Dad? What the fuck was that about?"

"Some stranger was in the hall. She called you my father and it seemed best just to go along. At least this way they won't think I'm alone here."

"Sure. Where's he?"

"He's getting supper. Riddick, I'm worried about that girl. She's right next to us"

Riddick! Well, this is interesting.

"Kid, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Sorry"

I smile and I walk down the hall, whistling to myself. Life could be a lot worse. Life could be a lot less interesting.

As I sit in the café, reading the ads for ships, I smile to myself.

A man selling something glossy and new flashes a smile at the camera. I don't want that, it's too recognizable. I want something that looks like its being driven to a scrap yard. I grin at an ad. A ship, the same class as the Betty, is for sale cheap. I scribble down the number onto my napkin and slip it in the pocket of my pants. It'll need fixing up, but I'm fine with that. They don't make ships like they used to.

I walk back to the hotel, a new shiv, just bought, comfortably tucked into the lining of my leather jacket. I've got so many knives hidden on and in me; I'd send a metal detector crazy. When did I get this cynical?

Probably when someone I was doing my best to protect shot me in the chest.

A lot of things in my life have gone wrong recently. Now I just want this one thing. Is the Betty too much to ask for?

I walk up the stair case to my room and crash headlong into a giant.

I don't think I've ever seen anyone this physically huge. 'Scar Face' was tall, but this man is broad. I take a step back and push my hair behind my ears. I'm not ready to deal with this right now. I tear my gaze off the floor and look up at him.

He's wearing goggles.

It's Riddick.

My recognition must have shown in my face, because he swears and grabs me by my shoulders. I go limp and open my mouth. If I play this weak I may come out without a confrontation. But if he touches me, I swear to God I'm going to kick his sorry ass. I'm not in the mood for this. Stupid macho jerk.

He pulls me into his room and pins me against the wall. It hurts, but I shut it out. I can feel pain, but it's easy to ignore.

"So little girl, you know who I am, do you?"

I don't move. I stagger my breathing, making it ragged, as if I'm terrified. I widen my eyes, and I nod once.

"You're a good actress."

"I... I don't know what you mean."

"You're not afraid of me."

I crack a grin. I'm sick of pretending.

"No, I'm not."

He suddenly holds a knife against my throat.

"It's a coppery taste, warm and salty. It tastes good with peppermint snaps. Human blood."

I look him straight in the eyes.

"It's a burning feeling, and it smells like lemons and compost. I've never got it in the mouth, but my foot hurt badly enough, it was acidic. Alien blood. And I'm still not afraid of you. I'm not left handed."

He drops me to the floor. His shiv stays at my throat.

"Meaning you know something I don't know"

I smile again, and my shiv from my sleeve is suddenly in my hand. I tap it against his belt buckle, a slow rhythm to his breathing.

"Now I suggest you back off, unless you want to pursue your life's ambition to sing soprano for the Galactic Choir."

He laughs, a deep sound, and takes a step back, out of my personal space.

I turn my back on him, deliberately letting him know he's not worth worrying about. I walk to the door.

"I won't turn you in, of course. That's attention I don't need."

He remains silent.

"Be seeing you, Riddick."

A small laugh, more of a bark greets my ears.

"No, you won't."

I walk out of the room, into my own, and lean against the wall. That was extremely complicated.

Moving on to the Betty...

I sigh in exasperation and hand over the credits. I've just paid for my new ship, which is in near mint condition. This is good, because it saves money on repairs, but it's pricier than I expected.

Which means I spent pretty much everything on it, and don't have enough credits to buy fuel to make the engines hiccough.

Which means (groan) I'll have to take on passengers for my first inter planetary run.

Where am I going to find a group with enough credits to pay for fuel, but who don't want cryo stasis? I post a quick announcement, leaving my contact number at the bottom. The Betty has six quarters, but I only need to fill three rooms to get enough for fuel for a long while.

Less than an hour later a man approaches my ship. I'm in the process of moving my junk (there's not much of it) into my quarters.

It's the priest from the booth.

"Hello my child!"

I smile in fake happiness.

"Father, it's a pleasure to see you again."

I'm glad I'm not dressed as dangerously as last night. My black tank top and white pants set off my skin and dark hair, and my black sandals have red beads embroidered onto them, matching my still red nails.

"Are you the one selling tickets to New Mecca?"

I nod briefly, smiling. A potential customer? Perfect. Someone gullible, innocent, and who I could smash into a pulp in a split second.

"I would like to purchase tickets please."

"Tickets? How many would you like?"

I ask, stressing the plural. Please say three. Please, please say three.

"Three, child"

Someone is looking out for me today. I draw up his receipt and he hands over the credits.

"Would you like three separate rooms? There's space to spare."

"That would be perfect. When do you set off?"

I smile at him.

"I was planning to go as soon as I got three travelers. Be on board the ship by noon tomorrow, alright?"

He nods, looking pleased. He leaves, and I walk into the ship. As soon as I enter I whoop in laughter, and order myself enough fuel, food, and oxygen to last for a year. Things are looking up.

I spend the rest of the night cleaning up the ship. The three quarters are spotless, and I've drawn up three neat maps, pointing the way to the kitchen, the living room, the laundry machine and the airlock. No room service on this bird. Washing my own clothes, I fold sheets and blankets, placing them in the linen cupboards of each of the rooms.

Finally, at eleven fifty six, Iman's voice floats through the ship's speaker system. I slip the link into my arm, and open the airlock.

I follow the heat signals through the ship, to the living room, and the launch couches. When all the buckles say 'locked' I hit the blast off.

I feel the ships engines heating, and I cool them, using the fluids specially saved for this.

Finally, I punch in the autopilot course to New Mecca (a religious place, of course.) I unplug myself, and slide my freckle back into place. I open the cockpit door and lock it behind me. You can never be too safe.

I walk down to the living room and just as I'm about to push the enter button, the door slides open.

There in front of me is Riddick.

We look eachother in the eye, and I burst into laughter. I lean sideways, and see Jack there too. Iman is standing near her, looking confused.

"Why father, consorting with criminals are we?"

Riddick chuckles again, a vicious sound, and I see his hand resting on his shiv.

Iman stands there, mouth open.

"Welcome to Chateau Hell. Please enjoy your stay."

Jack laughs at this. She's confused. Riddick is on his toes, not nervous, but ready for anything.

I look him in the eye.

"I'll take you to your quarters. It's a two week trip to New Mecca from here."

I walk them down the hall. The first room Iman takes.

Then Jack goes between the two, safe between them.

Then Riddick and I are left standing in the hall.

I lean against the wall, arms folded across my chest.

He sticks out his hand, and I take it. A wolfish smile splits his face.

"Richard B. Riddick, murderer, ex-convict."

I shake his hand firmly.

"Ebony Call, Alien Hunter, part time pilot"

He looks down at me.

"What kind of aliens are we talking about, exactly?"

I smile, more to myself than him.

"You won't ever run into any. No one will, any more. I'm good at my job."

"Ah. Thus you have the piloting as an alternate career choice?"

I shake my head, and brush my hair out of my face.

"No, the Company wanted its hands on the aliens more than it cared about human survival. I persuaded them that they were wrong. Corpses never argue much, anyways."

"I'd noticed that myself, to tell you the truth. But conversation is so much more interesting, especially in space."

"I agree. Civility pays off."

I left him at his door, smiling again. We have an agreement not to murder eachother. It's going to be an easier trip than I thought when I first saw him. No matter what you say about my life, you'll never say it's not interesting.

The next morning I got out rations for every one. I was awake much earlier than anyone else, so I left them in baskets at their doors.

I go to engineering and open a panel, taking out the ship/me interphase. I swear, realizing that I need to link up the engines manually before I can set a heat temperature (we get our warmth form our engines, and the biting cold of space was leaving a patina of frost on the walls) I was getting up to walk to engineering when I felt a huge weight crash into the small of my back.

Riddick tries to bring me face first to the deck, but I roll my limbs into a tight ball and keep on rolling, jumping to my feet a few paces away from him. I whirl and whip my shiv from my boot. He crouches in front of me, looking dangerous. He jumps to his feet, his own shiv in his hand.

I maintain that your personality can be seen in your knife. Riddick's was a sheer bit of steel, rough edged, looking like it had been torn from a huge sheet of metal, shining as brilliantly as his eyes. The handle was wrapped in black leather, and it looked perfectly balanced, even from this distance.

My own shiv was a black, narrow strip, made of some alloy. The handle was smoothed down metal, with a white pommel, helping to balance it from the longer blade. I hold it out in front of my chest, ready to skewer him if he jumps at me.

We circle eachother slowly, almost predatorily. I take in the surroundings, two exits; the door I just came through, and the hallway behind him. Three, if you count the air lock. I hope I don't go out that in a body bag. If he circles enough I may get behind him...

But I'll never outrun him. Not unless I hurt him badly enough. So I'm going to have to fight.

He sees my shift into fight mode. He lunges towards me again, and his arm knocks my shiv out of the way. His body collides full into mine and I go down hard, crashing my head into the wall. He's on top of me, my arms pinned by his, but I've managed to get my knees together, so I have that much leveraged.

I crash my knees up, then my shoulders, straining underneath him. He gives a muffled shout and I twist back and forth. I thrash underneath him, and rock him sideways, so that he slips off me.

I jump to my feet, but he has his hand on my ankle, and he pulls me back down with a crash. He pins me face first into the deck, locks my arms behind my back, then rolls me over, carefully separating my knees with his legs. I try the same trick, but he's prepared, and it doesn't even rock him. His hands pin my shoulders to the deck and press his shiv into my throat, and I go limp: His move now.

He presses the knife harder using the dull edge. He's looking for a reaction and I'm not going to give him one. My arms are above my head, and I wince, remembering that if he cut's me he'll know what I am.

He mistakes that wince as the pain he knows I'm feeling, and stops inching his knife forwards. My arms grope above my head. I find what I'm searching for.

"You're a good fighter little girl"

I'll say anything to keep him talking at this point. He continues.

"Not good enough, though"

I laugh derisively. I pull the freckle out of my arm, my eyes never leaving his.

"Show me your eyes, Riddick"

He looks down at me, and pulls of his goggles, and I stare into the twin pools of ice.

"Ripley had eyes like yours. Cold eyes that looked like they had been through hell and back, and then back again; dragging her friends out with her. She thought about getting a shine job, once."

I'm rattling, and Riddick is listening carefully I slip the interface into my arm and search for the proper link up.

"You have three seconds to get off me, Riddick."

I link my hands into the grate and he smiles wickedly.

"Or what, little girl"

"**Or you'll die"**

I speak this last sentence over the loudspeaker system for this corridor. Suddenly I am the ship. I feel the air locks, the circuits, everything is part of me. I know, my eyes are staring straight ahead, and my body is frozen to the hall floor, but that seems insignificant.

"**Commencing countdown: Three, two..."**

Riddick is staring at me in confusion.

"**One, opening airlock doors. Have a nice trip, bastard."**

The doors slide open, and my world lurches. Riddick's arms wrap around my waist and I feel various small objects floating by. His weight is causing my to lose my grip, so I reluctantly close the doors.

"**Please wait."**

Riddick still hasn't guessed it yet.

"Betty, who opened the airlock doors in this corridor?"

I laugh wickedly, remembering.

"**Betty's dead, asshole. I killed her. I'm all that's left."**

Riddick is off me now. He's backing away slowly. I can see realization dawning in his eyes. I begin to de link myself from the computer, painfully aware that I'm sprawled on the deck in a less than comfortable position.

I link out and pull the wires out of my arm, a little quicker than strictly necessary.

"So, Riddick, do you want to make it to New Mecca in one piece? Don't fuck with me. You may be stronger, but you're in my turf now."

"I knew I recognized you."

"Dear me, Riddick, is your memory that bad? We had a fairly similar conversation in a motel a day or so ago. Breakfast's at the door to your room. I suggest you bug off."

"I recognized you from your wanted poster, the one right under mine. Your hair's grown, but it's you, KL134"

"Breakfast's at the door to your room. I suggest you bug off."

"And now the recent Alien hunter has turned pilot. Making a living while moving around? Sounds like a good plan."

"Breakfast's at the door to your room. I suggest you bug off."

"I heard you. Thanks for the lesson."

He reaches out a hand, and I take it slowly. He pulls me to my feet, and strides out of the corridor.

Damn him. I hate this garbage. I'm aching now.

Riddick didn't tell his friends, I'll give him that much credit. I don't really know why, I think it's a sort of criminal respect thing.

I'm working now, I have a engine to maintain, and whether or not the Betty is a good ship, she does need a lot of repairs.

_Was you ever in Quebec?_

_Launching timber on the deck_

_Where you'll break your bleeding neck_

_Riding on a donkey._

I use my wrench to quickly open a panel, and link myself to the computer system.

_Was you ever in Miramashe?_

_Where you tie up to a tree_

_And the girls sit on your knee_

_Riding on a donkey._

I hear someone enter, and the heavy steps set my nerves on edge. I keep singing to myself, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of having interrupted my routine.

_Was you ever in fortunes bay?_

_Hear the girls all shout 'hooray'_

'_Here comes dad with ten weeks pay'_

_Riding on a donkey._

Riddick is above me. He stops, and I smile to myself, my head under an engine, obscured from view.

_Was you ever in London town?_

_See the king he does come down_

_SEE THE KING IN HIS GOLDEN CROWN!_

_Riding on a donkey._

I pull out from under the engine, sliding on the board under my back. Riddick is standing right above me.

"Do you want something to do or something? Because the whole lurking in the shadows thing is just becoming irritating, you do know this?"

"I feel like a fifth wheel. What can I do?"

"I don't know. What can you do, Riddick?"

He blinks and looks around.

"I know my way around this model pretty well. I can fix most of the components."

"Well, the cooling ducts are clogged. Do you want to flush them?"

He walks off, whistling to himself. The same song I was singing. I grin to myself. That's one of my favorites.

The next few weeks went fairly quickly, given that Riddick knew he couldn't attack me, and helped out quite a bit. It was fairly seamless in execution.

Then, finally, something happened.

A small ship docked, quickly, seamlessly, setting down without a bump, in front of Riddick and me.

And out steps, of all people, Ripley.

"Call, you little... what've you been doing with yourself?"

Only Ripley would remember to edit out the 'pile of bolts' that she customarily tacked onto the end of that sentence.

"Oh, you know; this and that... Getting a ship, getting some cred's, aiding escaped convicts... Meet Riddick, by the way."

Ripley walked straight up the most wanted man the galaxy has ever seen, and stuck out her hand. He took it.

"Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict, murderer. You must be another one of those alien hunters."

Ripley threw back her head and laughed, shaking her head.

"I'm not. I just kept em' alive long enough to do their jobs."

"Well...?"

Ripley smiled, and leaned in.

"I'm the monsters mother."

Ripley and Riddick were off together in a second. Kindred spirits are hard things to find, and with these two, I didn't expect to see one without the other for quite some time. It'll be interesting to see if Riddick and she stick with the kid and Iman when they gets to new Mecca, or if he and Ripley take off by themselves. I'm not placing any bets on Jack, poor kid.

What a pair. What a bloody pair.

No one can ever tell me that my life isn't interesting.


End file.
